


The Fault of the Bluebells

by IrisCalasse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, House Elves, Peter Pan References, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisCalasse/pseuds/IrisCalasse
Summary: Baby Draco gets lost in the National Arboretum and finds some unexpected company. He blames the bluebells.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: Seasons Fest





	The Fault of the Bluebells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleTrooper99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTrooper99/gifts).



It was the bluebells’ fault, of course. And the bees. Nasty, evil, fat, little monsters.

Never mind that he wasn’t supposed to be wandering far from the Manor’s well-manicured lawns. Never mind that he’d sneaked away from poor Pipsy, who would probably get clothes if he were truly lost. Never mind that if it had been Mipsy watching him - Mipsy with the eyes of a hawk and the tongue of a harpy - he would never even have dared; but Mipsy was attending to his mother, who was having one of her delicate episodes, and so Draco had been left to the tender care of an elf who was much less aware of the amount of trouble the Young Master could get himself into if he had the will and the opportunity. And he’d certainly had both today. The afternoon was lovely, with nice mild sun, and the bluebells had formed an enchanting path for little feet. He’d played happily among the flowers, gathering some ragged handfuls to take back to his mother, to cheer her up. He’d spotted a particularly lovely stalk and reached for those - and that was when the bees attacked.

He’d pushed his flowers at Pipsy and made a wild dash anywhere he could, trying to get away from the scary insects. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, not looking back until he was sure he could no longer hear the buzzing.

The problem was, now that he’d stopped, he didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t see Pipsy. Couldn’t see anyone, really. He couldn’t remember how he got here, either. So Draco did what any five-year-old boy in his position would do: He sat down on the ground and started to cry.

“Boy, why are you crying?”

The voice startled Draco, and he quickly raised his head, swiping manfully at his tears. “I wasn’t crying,” he said reflexively.

“Okay, then what are you doing sitting here?”

He had finally rubbed enough at his eyes to be able to open them, and he looked directly at the source of the voice. She was a girl around his own age or a little older, with a vast amount of wild, brown hair. She was wearing a frothy pink dress and had in her hands a big book with colorful pictures. The afternoon light shone through the trees and formed a halo behind her head. He blinked at her, wondering where she’d come from. “Are you a fairy?” he asked her.

She giggled. “No, I’m just a girl,” she replied.

“You look like a fairy,” Draco informed her. “Or a princess.”

She smiled at him. “My daddy calls me his princess,” she informed him, “but nobody’s ever called me a fairy before.”

“Well you, you Apparated from nowhere, and you’re little.”

She giggled. “I didn’t _appear_ from nowhere,” she said, emphasizing "appear" slightly, like she was trying to correct him without making it too obvious. “I was reading behind that tree, look.” And she held out her book.

Mipsy had taught Draco his letters, and he was proud to show that he could read. “P-Pe-ter Pan,” he sounded out. It didn’t sound like any story he’d ever read or heard before. “What’s it about?”

The girl’s smile grew even wider. He noticed that one of her lower teeth, at the center of her mouth, was missing. “It’s about a boy who never grows old, and he can fly, and he’s friends with Indians and fairies, and he fights pirates,” she said. “Do you want to read it together?”

Draco, whose eyes had grown wider and wider as she’d added more details about the story, nodded. The girl took his hand and led them to the tree she’d been reading under earlier, and the two of them sat beside each other on a tuft of grass. She opened her book.

“Peter Pan, by Walt Disney,” the girl read. “Mummy says that’s not the real author’s name, but my book is from the movie,” she added, as if this was any real explanation, but Draco was impatient and prodded her along. “Mr and Mrs Darling were late…”

Draco had a lot of opinions about the book. The fairy was too small, and the mermaids too pretty. He didn’t understand how a dog could be left to nursemaid a group of children. And why did nobody carry wands? But he was very interested, anyway. The two of them were deeply engrossed in the rescue of Princess Tiger Lily when a voice broke into their reading.

“Hermione! Hermione!”

The girl looked around, catching Draco full in the face with her hair. He sputtered and batted it away as she closed her book. “Mummy!” she said, jumping up and patting her dress free of bits of grass. Draco stood up as well, carefully moving a little further away so that he wouldn’t get another faceful of hair. It had smelled kind of nice and was softer than it looked, but it was still not particularly pleasant.

The girl - Hermione - had plainly seen her mother, now, and ran quickly towards her, leaving Draco by the tree. He watched as she ran up to a woman wearing trousers (trousers! His mother would never be caught in them) and flung her arms around the woman’s legs. The woman bent down and patted her head. They were speaking to each other, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Young Master!” a reproachful voice said. Draco turned and smiled sheepishly at Pipsy, who had suddenly appeared near him, looking rather worse for wear. He seemed to have been stung a few times and looked rather tired. “Young Master, you is too far from home,” the elf said. “You is near the National Arboretum now, near the Muggles.”

“Muggles?” A mild frisson of startled fear ran through Draco as he heard the word. Muggles were scary folk. They were different from normal, magic folk, and his parents had warned him very strictly to stay away from them. “Where are the Muggles?” he whispered to Pipsy.

Pipsy looked strangely at him. “Why, just over there, Young Master,” he said, pointing right at Hermione and her mother. Hermione was staring at Draco and Pipsy, a strange expression on her face, and she tugged on her mother’s trousers.

“The Muggles are looking here, Young Master,” Pipsy said in a quavering voice. “We must get away quickly. If they come closer, my glamor shall not prevent them from seeing us.”

“But -”

“Come, let us go behind this tree, and Apparate,” Pipsy said, not waiting for Draco’s objections. A moment later, they had disappeared.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione ran towards the tree, her mother trailing behind her. She looked around, behind the tree, left and right and even up into the branches. There was no sign of the little boy she had been reading with, or the strange wrinkly creature that had been standing next to him.

“Hermione, what in the world?”

“They were right here!” She said in consternation.

“Who, honey?”

“The boy! The boy I was telling you about! We read Peter Pan together! And the, the g-nome thing, it took him away!”

“Gnome, dear,” her mother said, gently correcting her pronunciation. She brushed her daughter’s hair away from her forehead and placed her palm momentarily against Hermione’s skin. “Hm, no fever.”

“I’m not sick, mummy, there really was a boy here!”

“I didn’t see one, darling. I only saw you. Perhaps he was some sort of wood-spirit, or a fairy?” She was only teasing, of course.

Hermione latched onto the words at once, of course. “Maybe he was!” she said. “He was very sure about how fairies looked like, and mermaids. He’d know all about them if he were magic himself, right?”

Hermione looked so serious that her mother had to smile. Little children and their imaginary friends were so cute. “Of course, honey.”

Hermione seemed pacified for a moment, then her face fell. “I wasn’t even able to ask for his name,” she said sadly.

Her mother patted her cheek. “Perhaps you’re not supposed to learn it,” she said. “Maybe his name is a secret one, like Rumpelstiltskin’s.”

The new name distracted Hermione, and she blinked up at her mother. “Who’s Rumplystillin?”

Her mother took her hand, and as they walked away, began to tell her daughter the story of a strange fellow with a secret name and some strange abilities...


End file.
